Through Darkness
by dennyj
Summary: We all need something to get us through the dark times.


In response to the Whump challenge on the Drabbles list.

Through Darkness

By Denny J

_Plut._

_Plut._

It was a new sound. Something to focus on, to distract him, to spark his brain into action.

Something besides the sounds and sensations that had become routine.

A door creaked.

Wait for it... wait for it… footsteps, right on time. Moving away from him as usual. They'd already paid him a visit today.

Another door clanging shut.

Silence again.

_Plut._

_Plut._

What was that? So familiar, yet he couldn't place it.

Only a few more minutes until warmth would come pouring through the tiny window, wrapping itself around him and banishing the chill that had settled in his bones. And with it would come memories.

Funny thing about memories, you could try and try to bring one to the surface, and be disappointed every time. But a smell or sound or a phrase of music could bring them back in a flood of images and sensations. It was the only thing that would work now—the only way to find the memories. So he waited, knowing exactly how long it would be before the light and the warmth touched him again and drew them out.

_Plut._

_Plut._

Except that sound was throwing him off. He should be grateful for the distraction, for something that would engage his mind, but instead it made him uneasy.

There—he could feel the rays coming through the window now, touching his foot, slowly spreading up his leg, overpowering the chill and replacing it with warmth that spread little by little up to his chest and out to the tips of his fingers. With it came the light—he could feel it behind his eyelids, dispelling the blackness and replacing it with a golden glow. It was like being covered in a blanket warmed by a fire. No, it was hotter.

He was standing under a blazing sun, bare feet sinking into the sand of the riverbank, soles burning like fire until he stepped into the water. A breeze blew dust down from the dune and he closed his eyes to it, reveling in the heat prickling his skin and the coolness of the water lapping at his feet. The voices behind him were happy and familiar, but the words were lost on the wind. But the wind also carried the sweet fragrance of the lotus flower, and he turned his head towards it, letting it wash over him and fill him up.

He stayed at the river as long as the warmth allowed, digging in the sand, swimming out to the reeds where the tiny fish hid, lying on his back with the sun beating down, lulled to sleep by the comforting sound of the voices.

Ever so slowly, the warmth bled away, taking with it the pleasant memories that had become his beacon in the darkness. The golden glow faded to pale nothingness and eventually darkness returned. He shivered as his body cooled, the memory distant now. He tried to hold onto it, but, as always happened, it winked out.

_Plut._

_Plut._

He knew that sound. It scared him. Cold, dark memories welled up inside him and he searched for the warmth and light but they were gone. There was nothing between him and the memory of the footsteps' last visit—had it been today? Maybe if he opened his eyes, he'd find the sound was something else—something benign. With great effort he pried them open, blinking to adjust to the dimness of his surroundings. The world was on its side, but no, it was his head that was tilted. He lifted it off the stone pallet and looked around, barely able to distinguish the iron bars in the darkness, the lone, high window only a shadow.

_Plut. _

He groaned as he moved his arm and used it to pull himself to the edge of the pallet. Looking over the edge, he could see a puddle on the stone floor below. As he watched, a droplet fell from the pallet to the puddle.

_Plut._

Squinting in the pale darkness, he could see the moisture underneath him. Now he could feel it soaking his ragged shirt, and the memory of rough hands and hard fists swarmed him and he closed his eyes again.

He laid his head back down on the cold stone. Tomorrow the warmth would come again… if he lived that long.

A new memory wound its way to the surface, one that carried its own warmth-one that Daniel would hold tightly to in the darkness for as long as he could.

_Jack_…

END


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